Freshly Mown Grass and New Parchment and—
by Sister Suffragette
Summary: "Freshly Mown Grass and New Parchment and—"


"Freshly Mown Grass and New Parchment and—"

"Freshly mown grass and new parchment and—"

"Jam tarts", Hermione thought to herself, turning slightly pink.

"Jam tarts?" Harry asked from behind her.

Hermione whipped around, her eyes widening at Harry as she realized she had spoken aloud. Flushing harder still, Hermione quickly scurried to the back of the classroom to her table. Sitting between Harry and Ron, as always, she quickly recovered her notebook and started scribbling notes.

"Jam tart, really? For merlin's sake, jam tart! "Hermione thought madly, trying to focus on what Slughorn was saying about some kind of classroom challenge. Hermione wished this madness would quickly see its way out of her head; it was a silly crush, and Hermione Granger was _not_ a silly girl. She and Ron would be together, "when he stops being so insufferable" she added in her head. She loved Ron, always had, but this preoccupation was something she just couldn't shake!

_He's slightly taller, I guess._

_He's an irrational, senseless wag._

_At least he owns up to his idiocy._

_His hair is softer._

_How would I know how soft his hair is?!_

_Broader shoulders than Ron. Really broad, actually. Like so broad I couldn't NOT notice._

_Oh Gods help me, I'm Lavender Brown._

_Or maybe it's the way his mouth looks when he's up to someth- for Merlin's sake, pay attention!_

Hermione immediately looked up to find Professor Slughorn slapping Harry on the back and grinning at her. Harry had just paid her a compliment, she smiled widely. After shushing Ron's half-hearted rebuttal, Hermione got to work on the day's lesson. Silently reading the assigned directions, she looked up at Harry again, hoping desperately he had already forgotten her earlier unintentionally-shared thought.

"Jam tarts." Harry said to himself. "Never pegged Hermione as a sweet tooth… aren't her parents dentists?" he questioned idly, flipping through his disheveled, graffitied potions textbook. Trying to decipher the cramped, sideways writing, Harry started dropping the modified ingredients into his cauldron. Several minutes later:

_I'm starving._

_Mmm, jam tarts. Jam tarts would be perfect now._

_Mrs. Weasley's jam tarts, right now. That would be heaven._

_Hold on._

_The Weasley's!_

"Hermione was thinking about the burrow!" Harry suddenly realized. Of course she was talking about Ron! Harry really wished his friends would just get on with it. Ron was too stubborn to admit he was crazy for Hermione, and Hermione was far too ornery to reciprocate. They were constantly bickering, and if they weren't bickering they were involved in even worse pro-longed silences. Harry honestly didn't understand why they felt the need to shout at one another, their respective glares sent the message loud and clear. But eventually they'd be together, "when Ron stops being a twat," Harry thought chuckling to himself.

As the lesson passed, Hermione's hair expanded to its former glory, Harry became smugger, and Ron's frown progressively deepened. Pocketing his prized Felix Felicis, the three Gryffindors made their way, Hermione more begrudgingly so, out of the classroom and into the large corridor.

"So, er, Hermione… you're coming to the burrow over holiday, yeah?" said Ron suddenly.

"What—why? "Hermione replied quickly. It was only Ron, and she almost always visited the Weasley's over Christmas, but she found herself quite jumpy after that interlude with the betraying love potion.

Ron's ears started to redden as he visibly struggled to form a complete sentence in his head.

"Well—"  
"Time for dinner, isn't it?" Hermione interrupted him. "I bet it's going to be a feast; probably extra dessert for the start of lessons!" said Hermione, knowing this would peak Ron's attention.

"Yeah?" said Ron. Food always took top priority.

"Of course! And rice pudding, and treacle tarts Harry, and—"

"Jam tarts?" Harry asked coyly, helping himself to a knowing smirk.

"S-sure," squeaked Hermione, progressively flushing more red until her complexion was on par with Ron's hair.

Practically jogging, Ron lead the trio down to the Great Hall; Harry and Hermione stole glances at each other the whole way.

* * *

The year passed on, Harry becoming increasingly paranoid, and Ron and Hermione becoming increasingly distant.

"Ronald is free to do whatever he pleases, with whomever he pleases. Honestly, if he wants to snog daft, bubbleheaded bimbos, then that is his stupid, depthless prerogative." Hermione asserted to Harry, stalking up to the girl's dormitories.

Hermione was, in truth, jealous of Ron Weasley's sudden introduction to the female body of Hogwarts. She and Ron were meant to be together, and if he stopped being such an insufferable twat he would see that.

Hermione's silly crush hadn't bothered her much lately; traitorous fantasies only occasionally slipped into her thoughts, and she kept her distance from love potions. Yes, it seemed that Gryffindor's princess finally kicked her unsavory addiction and would soon take her rightful place on the throne alongside her ginger prince.

"They're driving me crazy," Harry thought to himself, lying in bed.

_As if I don't have enough on my plate. _

_Just get on with the apology already!_

'_Hermione, I'm sorry for being an insufferable twat, forgive me?'_

'_Oh, Ronald!'_

_Honestly, Voldemort is more forthcoming about his feelings._

"That's it. I'm just going to confront them. Make them talk," Harry declared, rolling onto his side. "'Hermione smelt you in the love potion'… that'll shut up the 'free agent'."

* * *

Ron Weasley lay still in the hospital bed.

"You know, Ronnie always wanted a surprise birthday party. Put on some hats and I think we're set," drawled Fred from the corner.

"Not exactly a celebration," said Ginny frowning.

"No, but boy will he be surprised when he wakes up," finished George.

Ginny Weasley made a face; her twin brothers added together, "He'll be fine!"

"Honestly Gin, your face will stay like that."

"Is that really what you want Ron to wake up to?"

"Didn't die of poison, might die of fright!" said George, earning a jab in the ribs from Harry.

"Too soon?"

Hermione couldn't hear them; she was quietly sitting on the side of Ron's bed looking at his lips twitching into a small grin.

"What could he be happy about?" Hermione thought grimly, shifting her legs.

And that's when she heard it.

It couldn't have been more than a whisper, but to Hermione, he might as well have screamed it. Ron had said her name.

She was overwhelmed, "the insufferable twat said my name!" Hermione thought happily, a smile creeping onto her face. Everything was going to be okay with them again because Ron said her name, and he was going to wake up soon.

Hermione was heading into the Great Hall for breakfast when she found out Ron was awake; sprinting down the hall, talking the stairs two at a time, she found her way to the hospital wing.

Surrounded by a huge group of people, Ron beamed up at her from his cot. Propping himself up on his elbows, the Weasley let out a hearty sigh and said "Hey!"

Skipping over formal pretexts and awkward apologies, Hermione hurriedly made her way to the bed and flung her arms around his neck. She was so relieved he was alright, she simply couldn't keep still; and the fact that he was seemingly happy to see her only made the moment that much sweeter.

Slowly realizing about ten people were sharing this private, personal moment between her and her best friend, Hermione tentatively released a very red Ron Weasley and leaned back to see his face.

Ron was smiling a great, wide smile. Hermione returned it instantly. Everything was going to be fine; everything was just as it should be.

And then—

"Hello, Granger."

_Oh no._

"Fred!" Hermione exclaimed, spinning on her heel to face Fred Weasley.

_There are two of them, you know_.

"George! You're here," Hermione added lamely. She could feel the sweat starting to form on the back of her neck.

_There it is._

_Full recovery._

_Fred Weasley in the flesh._

_Nice looking flesh too, so many freckles. Maybe more than Ron._

_I wonder if they're all over._

_Well surely not on his—_

Hermione knocked over the bed tray.

_Shut it he's talking!_

Hermione awkwardly started backing away from the bed, tripping over her feet as she went. She only heard Fred speaking to her when her body was flat against the wall.

_You've literally backed yourself into a corner. Brilliant._

"Granger?" asked Fred, grinning.

"You alright, 'Mione?"asked Harry, looking concerned.

"Sorry?" Hermione could feel her knees buckling.

Fred stepped towards her in a cool, emerald suit, "Jam tart, Hermione. Want one?"

Convenient really that they're in the hospital wing, seeing as how Hermione needed a double dose of Skele-Gro: her legs just turned to jelly.

"N-no. Think I'm good, thanks." Hermione said, turning the color of Ron's annual Christmas sweater.

If she hadn't been staring at her silly crush, Hermione would have noticed Harry's face was a similar shade.

"Come on Hermione, I haven't done anything to them," Fred said as he leaned in, "it's the custard creams you want to avoid."

Fred winked at her.

_And there goes the mobility of my legs._

"Ah, Canary creams… a bestseller at the shop! Right bargain, too," said George.

"Neville still spits up feathers every once in a while," Ron laughed from his bed, finishing off his seventh jam tart.

All Hermione could manage was a nervous giggle that sounded more maniacal than endearing. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Hermione—a word—now!" called Harry, standing up and dragging Hermione out of the room.

* * *

The Gryffindors were all in the common room celebrating Harry's victory over the first task of the tournament. Harry and Ron were laughing brightly, catching up with each other after what seemed like a millennia of silence. Hermione was distractedly observing the odd golden egg slung under Harry's arm, not really paying attention to Fred Weasley striding towards her.

"Jam tart, Hermione?" asked Fred suddenly, startling her.

"What?" Hermione said with a start.

Fred grinned, "Jam tart, Hermione. Want one?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the tin box, and finally looked up into Fred's face.

Fred's grin grew into a wide smile, "I haven't done anything to them…it's the custard creams you want to avoid," he added with a wink.

_Huh…his eyes are green._

_Pretty._

_Wait. Pretty?_

_This is Fred Weasley!_

_One-half of the deviant, dunderheaded duo._

Hermione lowered her eyes and quickly recovered a tart from the box. "Thanks."

"Pleasure's all mine. " Fred said, not moving from his spot in front of her.

Eyes not leaving the ground, Hermione sat up from her chair and took a step forward, walking face first into a set of broad, really broad shoulders. Hermione looked up stunned.

Neville had just morphed into a canary, but Hermione hadn't noticed; her attention was currently fixated on the slight groove of Fred Weasley's upper lip. Lord Voldemort tap-dancing in the middle of the common room? She didn't pay any mind, Fred Weasley's hair had just fallen into his face, and Hermione was certain she needed to right the problem.

The groove twitched into sly smile.

_Has his mouth always looked like that?_

_Oh Merlin, help me._

_He should NOT smile like that._

_George doesn't smile like that!_

_Gods his lips look soft._

_STOP STARING!_

"I've always felt close to you, Hermione," said Fred winking.

Hermione couldn't feel her legs.

_No matter, Fred can just carry me._

_No!_

_Wanker._

Hermione glared at Fred, but the effect was lost as her blush had turned a shade of magenta. She toppled into the chair again.

Fred chuckled, and crossed the room to George. Hermione didn't take her eyes off him.

Eating her jam tart, staring at her newest distraction, Hermione slumped in her chair.

_It's just a silly crush, it'll go away eventually…_


End file.
